A Real Hero
by I Am Definitely Jeff Bridges
Summary: After Tartarus, Percy can't be sure that he's up to the job of being a hero anymore. He can't be sure of anything anymore, except that when Paul is held to ransom, he has to be the one who goes to rescue his stepfather, and that he has to be the one who faces the consequences of existing in a world of monsters and men. Oneshot.


**A Real Hero**

The first they knew of it was when Paul didn't come home from work on time.

Seventeen year-old Percy Jackson was lying on the sofa, watching a trashy action movie, while his Mom was leisurely preparing dinner. The living room of their apartment was positioned diagonally across from the kitchen area, so that she was just in the periphery of his vision as he relaxed.

As far as Percy was concerned, the film he was watching was a work of art. Its main character had just rediscovered a sliver of hope and was about to pursue that sliver into the castle where he was born, and where he would have to fight demons that were responsible for the fate of his family. Even if not the most deep and meaningful film, the absurd action scenes more than made up for any lack of insight into the human condition. Any risks that its violence would prove too close to home were nullified by the ridiculous excess with which it was executed.

However, he grew distracted by a movement in the corner of his eye, and shifted his gaze from the hero's preparations for the final battle over to the kitchen, where his Mom was glancing worriedly at the clock what seemed to be every five seconds.

"Everything alright?" he asked.

His Mom puffed out her cheeks. "Yes. No. Maybe. It's probably nothing. It's just that Paul should have been home fifteen minutes or so ago. He'll be fine, I'm sure, but… I worry." Percy was sure she didn't mean to, but there seemed to be an unspoken part of that sentence that pointed out that living with a demigod son endangered everyone involved.

"He's probably just stuck in traffic," he offered. "It's a Friday."

"True. I imagine we can leave it a little longer before we panic." She gave him a smile of reassurance, though he suspected it was more for her sake than for his. He wasn't even close to panicking. After all, traffic jams happen.

Nevertheless, he nodded and gave an "Uh-huh" to show his assent. Then he thought for another moment. "I could call him up if you want? Just to check."

His Mom smiled at him gently. "No, Percy, he might be driving. As I said, we'll leave it a little longer. It's probably just traffic, or some student's handed in an assignment late that he needs marked by tomorrow.

"Students _are_ the worst," said Percy, and was glad to see her crack a smile.

He went back to watching the film.

The minutes ticked past as the hero found his father locked in the castle dungeons and fought the demon in the throne room, and as the chicken breasts were seasoned and blue food dye was added to the pan.

When Percy's eyes drifted back to the clock, he was shocked to see that half an hour had passed. It was half-five already, and no smiling stepfather had emerged through the door.

"I'm going to call him," announced his Mom.

She set the phone onto speaker and dialled Paul's mobile, leaving it on the table as it rang so she could work around it.

 _Beep beep._

 _Beep beep._

 _Beep beep._

 _Beep beep._

 _Beep -_

 _Click_.

"Paul, are you there?" she asked.

"You've got gold, girl," came the voice on the other end.

Both of them froze.

Percy noticed two things about it at once: the first was that it was not Paul's voice. The second was that its words were a statement, not a question.

He got up slowly and made his way over to the kitchen.

"Is this Paul's phone?" he asked, praying to Tyche, goddess of luck, that his Mom had called the wrong number, that they'd stumbled onto someone else's business, and that his stepfather was just stuck in traffic.

Tyche never had liked Percy much.

There was muffled speech at the other end of the line before the voice spoke again. "Yeah, says he's called Paul."

Percy wasn't sure if the chills on his spine were from the voice's painful, rasping quality, or from the confirmation of the danger his stepfather found himself in. "Let him go," he said.

"Why should we? What's he to you, anyway? Family?"

"Yeah, we're his family," replied Percy. "So you let him go, or else I will personally come down there and kill each and every one of you."

The voice laughed. "Feisty one, ain't you?"

"I'm waiting for an answer," said Percy.

"Well like I said to the girl, you've got gold."

"Gold?" asked Percy.

"Don't play stupid," came the voice. "His pockets're full of coins. Real gold, it looks, worth more than most earn in a year. I'd bet that you've got more."

"And you want it."

"And we want it. So you just trot over here, with a nice big bag of that money, and don't be stingy – we'll know. Then, if we think there's enough in there to be worth our time, we'll see about letting daddy go."

"Listen-" Percy's Mom began, but he cut her off.

"Oh, I can come down straight away," said Percy. "Where do we meet?"

* * *

Sally had never seen her son like this.

She had seen him angry for so long at Gabe, and at the bullies and teachers who belittled and refused to accept him.

She had seen him scared and desperate, as when they'd had to flee the Minotaur.

She had even seen him as a warrior, in the midst of the Battle of Manhattan, when he was fighting for his own life and that of the whole world.

Honestly, up until today, Sally would have said she knew her son as well as she knew herself.

But he had never even interrupted her before, not since he was a little child.

Now he was consumed with a sort of cold fury. Everything about him was tightly controlled as he packed a bag with nectar and ambrosia. The ADHD that normally kept him drumming his fingers incessantly or tapping his foot repeatedly was gone, and instead, despite the still-constant movement, there was a smoothness in his actions. She could see his anger, though, from the tight cords in his neck.

"Percy," she said. "These are mortals. Wouldn't it be better to call the police and let them deal with it?"

He looked up at her, and as he breathed in, his shoulders rose and fell. She wondered when they had grown so high and broad. She wondered how she had managed to miss so much of his life. Even so, she knew his answer before he gave it.

"No," he said. "I got him into this. I'll get him out."

"You didn't get Paul into this, Percy."

"Yes I did. Those drachmas were in case he ever needed to contact me. So I could keep him safe. And instead, they've got him kidnapped. I can't just sit back and watch things happen."

"You couldn't have known-"

"I should have, alright?"

Sally blinked at the sudden aggression of his interruption. Percy flinched back, as though scared of what he'd just done.

His eyes softened from the wild intensity they'd held before. There was still that fractured look at their very core, though, the one that had been there since the giant war. "I'm sorry," he said. "I'm not a good person anymore."

"Percy-"

"I'm not," he repeated, voice rising. "Maybe I was once. Maybe I was a hero when I fought in Manhattan. Maybe even on the quest to Alaska, but ever since Tartarus, I just don't know what's right or wrong anymore, and I don't know how to cope with all the dreams and the flashbacks and it's driving me insane!"

He paused for breath, standing there, his eyes wide and panicked. "I get people hurt. I always have. Bianca, Silena, Leo, all of them my fault. Even you, when Hades took you, that was my fault too. It would have been better if I was never born."

He carried on speaking before Sally had a chance to try and contradict him again.

"But here I am, and I have to live with everything that's my fault, and so all I can do now is my best to stop anyone else from being hurt. I've got to go and get Paul back. No-one can do this for me. I've got drachmas in my room, they should be enough. It's like I told him," he said, gesturing to the phone on the table, "Paul's family."

"Percy-"

"Don't try and stop me, Mom."

She hadn't been planning to. She stepped forward and wrapped him in a hug. She wished that she never had to let go. "Percy, you _are_ a good person. You're more than that, you're a hero. I know it's been difficult recently, but I just want you to know that I am _so, so_ proud of you. No matter what. And again, you're putting other people before yourself, just like you always have." She pulled back and looked into those pained green eyes that looked so much like his father's. Sally wondered, for the first time in seventeen years, if she should have taken Poseidon's offer of a palace under the sea. "Just be safe. Promise me you'll come home in one piece."

He nodded. It was jerky and uncertain, but then he said "I will," and she knew it was a promise he would move mountains to keep.

Because even if her son had been through hell and back, she knew that he was still a hero. All she had to do was hold onto the hope that even heroes could have a happy ending, sometimes.

* * *

Paul was struggling to work out what had happened.

Even though he was pretty certain he had the facts straight, he was still having difficulty on the bit where this was real life, and not a dream. The force with which he'd been hit over the head would have woken him up if it was a dream, but he was currently wondering if his current predicament was actually a concussion-induced hallucination. Assuming concussions could give you hallucinations, that was.

He'd been walking peacefully home along the street, but running slightly late, so he'd taken a short-cut through an alley to get home that little bit faster. Well, that had been a mistake.

One of them had moved out into the middle of the alleyway as Paul was walking along it, blocking the exit. Another had come up behind him and clubbed him over the head, and some time later – he wasn't sure exactly how long, but it seemed to still be daylight outside – he had woken up here.

He was in a warehouse or something, a large, bare, concrete room with exposed piping and little furnishing. He seemed to be tied to a pillar in its centre.

There were four men in the room, that he could see, all busy around the edges. One seemed to be keeping watch for something through the windows at the very top of the room. Another was carefully taping an explosives to the other pillars in the room, on the sides hidden from the view of someone standing in the large door that was obviously the building's main entrance. Another was tampering with the lock on a side door, though Paul couldn't tell if he was trying to open it, keep it shut, or booby-trap it somehow.

The biggest of the gang, the only one who had not been busy at work, rose from his slouch against the wall, and walked over until he was standing over Paul, looking down at his spot against the pillar. "Your guy should be here soon. And if he has enough of those shiny gold coins, then you'll be free to go. I'm sure you'd like that, wouldn't you?" He spoke patronisingly, as though to a child. As though Paul was too stupid to realise that fighting would only end badly for one of them.

Paul nodded grudgingly. He couldn't deny that getting home sounded pretty good right now.

"Then be careful not to do anything dumb, eh?"

Paul nodded again, although he wasn't sure if he'd be keeping that promise once Percy arrived.

Percy, of course, was the other aspect he had to consider. He'd given Paul and Sally drachmas so that they could contact him in an emergency, and none of them had even stopped to consider that solid gold would seem awfully attractive to an outsider. And now Paul's stepson was on his way down here with a bag full of the things to save him. Paul hoped that the criminals would let them go that easily, but the preparations taking place around the room suggested otherwise.

Percy had been unstable, at best, ever since coming back from Tartarus. He'd done his best to hide it from Paul and Sally, but he'd obviously felt uncomfortable in the apartment, full of jumps at slight touches and with a hand that jerked towards the pocket he kept Riptide in at sudden noises. The mercifully few times they'd seen him fight monsters since his return, there had been a wild intensity to his attacks, though the fluid movements of his body made the battles seem meaningless. Paul didn't know how he'd react to having mortal opponents for once.

Paul hadn't heard the other end of the phone conversation, but judging by the big brute's reactions, and their current preparations, none of the gang were quite certain who or what was coming through the door in a few minutes' time. That element of uncertainty might be what they needed to get out of here alive. Then again, it might prompt them to shoot first and ask questions later, just to be safe.

"All loaded?" asked the big man. Noticing Paul's startled reaction, he smiled menacingly. "Not to worry. Only if your man's stupid." He pulled out his own pistol, checking its magazine. Paul didn't know a whole lot about guns, but he didn't need to: it was certainly capable of killing even a demigod.

The big man opened his mouth, about to say something else, but was interrupted by a crashing sound as the main doors burst open and bounced off the walls, their hinges protesting desperately and their sides ringing from the force of the blow.

Perhaps he would still have given some kind of order if Percy Jackson hadn't stepped through those doors a moment later.

Paul had never been either so glad or so worried to see his stepson.

The source of his gladness was perhaps obvious. He was, after all, a step closer to freedom. With luck, he could return home with Percy in a matter of minutes.

The source of his worry was rather further beneath the surface of Percy's arrival. The boy – and Paul still saw him as that, despite the old man's eyes he now had, and despite the fact that he'd seen more in his short life than Paul ever would – the boy was walking with a determination Paul hadn't seen in him since he returned from Tartarus, and a green fire in those eyes that warned all around him to stay well away. If Paul had been a member of the gang, he might have mistaken the look in those eyes for nerves at the situation. Knowing Percy as he did, though, he could see the burning fury threatening to consume his stepson, the anger bursting at the seams. The jittering, the tapping of fingers against the jeans – these were not nervous ticks, but a readiness for a fight. Paul was thankful that he'd never seen Percy like this before. And he hoped that he never would again.

"He's just a boy," said the man at the side door, stopping work. There was an uncertainty in the words, as though it was perfectly fine to kidnap and rob people, but if there were children somewhere in their lives, that was somehow crossing an unacceptable line.

"Boys can hand over gold just as well as men," said the big man, who seemed to be the leader. "Maybe even better. Give it here, _boy_."

Percy caught Paul's eye. He pulled a plastic bag from the rucksack on his back, a plastic bag overflowing with gold drachmas. He handed it to the leader.

The big man took it, walked over to a point in the room where Paul couldn't see him, but seemed to be comparing the new coins to the ones he'd taken from Paul, as, when finished, he said "Seems alright, then." He walked back into Paul's line of sight, and, gesturing to him, said "He's all yours."

Percy removed the rucksack, and laid it by the door.

"Why're you taking that off?" demanded the big man.

"So it's easier to fight you if you don't keep your word," said Percy, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. Paul supposed that, to him, it quite possibly was.

The gang did not know that, though, and all but the leader laughed at the thought of one unarmed teenager fighting all of them together. The leader himself smiled broadly, clearly entertained, but also alerted to the possibility of a fight.

"Hold still," he said. "You got any weapons?"

"None I'll have to use, I hope," said Percy.

"Cover him." The other members of the gang trained their weapons on Percy as their leader moved over to the demigod, and patted down his chest and sides. "Turn out your pockets," he said. Percy did so, revealing only a pen and a bar of chocolate. Paul suspected that they were actually his sword and some ambrosia, but the gang wouldn't know that.

"Go on," said the leader. He watched as Percy came over to Paul and crouched by him.

"Can one of you cut the ropes?" asked Percy.

"About that," said the leader. He cocked his gun and aimed it at the back of Percy's head. Paul's breath caught in his throat. "Thing is, we can't really let you go."

"Why's that?" asked Percy.

"See, if we let you go, you might just spoil everything by going and telling the police about us. If we kill you here, we don't have that problem."

"My Mom knows we're here."

"And by the time she realises you're not coming back, we'll be on a plane for Havana. Mommy can't help you now, boy. No, you two are the only ones who can get the police fast enough to stop us. We can't have you telling them, so we can't have you walking out of here alive."

Percy didn't seem perturbed by this. His initial response was to straighten up and stretch his back. "Wrong," he said.

"What – you telling me you won't call the cops? I don't buy it, kid."

"No, that's not what you got wrong," said Percy. "The bit you got wrong was when you said I was the one who wouldn't be walking out of here alive."

The gang leader breathed out heavily through his nose in a quiet snort of laughter. "You're a funny one, I'll give you that," he said. Then he aimed, and fired. He probably imagined that firing his gun would be the end of any action in the warehouse.

Instead, it was only the beginning.

* * *

Percy sensed the bullet coming from behind him almost in slow motion. It buzzed like a lazy bluebottle, floating towards him with no sense of urgency.

He ducked to the left, and it clipped a tuft of hair from behind his ear.

There was water in the pipes, and the pipes ran all around the building. He waved his hands, and the water burst free, speeding in a concentrated blast at the big man who had just opened fire on Percy. It slammed into him, crushing him between four walls of water.

The other members of the gang were just reacting now, some in fear and some in anger, but all by opening fire.

The bullets whizzed past Percy, but he coalesced the water into a large ball and sent it slamming into each of them. Two were simply sent flying, but he suspected he might have cracked the third's skull. The man in question left a bloody mark against the part of the wall his head hit.

One of the remaining pair scrambled for the side door. Percy raised his hands, not even considering letting a man who had tried to kill his stepfather go free.

Then something erupted behind him.

He went flying several metres, into the air and down again with a crunch against the wall.

His ears clogged up with a high pitched ringing. He rolled onto his back and surveyed his wobbling surroundings. The room swayed unsteadily. A pillar crumbled, a large and uneven chunk unceremoniously removed from it. A fifth gang member stood in the doorway, tossing the used detonator aside.

Percy slammed his foot down, sending tremors through the earth to where the man was standing. The building's foundations shook. Percy heard slates crashing from the roof outside. Then the door-frame collapsed, burying the man beneath a pile of debris.

He clambered unsteadily to his feet, and promptly stumbled sideways into a pillar that span towards him on the axis of the suddenly spinning room. Thankfully it wasn't the half-demolished pillar.

His two foes had also been sent to the floor by the blast, and were taking rather longer to stand up. One of them lunged for his weapon, dropped near where Percy was standing.

Percy stamped on his hand, hearing bones crack. He kicked the weapon away. The other man just lay trembling on the floor whimpering slightly. Percy couldn't see any wounds on him. It was probably just shock.

The water gathered around him. It would do his bidding, no matter what.

It would end this piece of scum's life.

Percy raised his hands, lifting the water up, ready to kill.

And caught Paul's eye.

His stepfather was still roped to the pillar, and had witnessed the whole fight in total silence. He was still silent now, watching his stepson prepare to kill a man who had tried to kill him.

There was no judgement in Paul's eyes. Indeed, there was little of anything but concern. Percy wasn't sure what the older man had to be concerned about. Surely not Percy himself? He'd just killed three criminals, and had the last two at his mercy.

What then?

There was a strange kind of peaceful acceptance in there, too. That was strange.

It was the sort of expression another father might have given another son in telling him that he could make his own choice about what college to go to, or whether to go to a distant cousin's wedding, or what to have for dinner.

That wasn't the sort of attitude you have towards someone holding lives in their hands.

Percy found himself calming, and lowering the walls of water around himself. The man at his feet exhaled jaggedly – and then darted forwards.

With his good hand, the man swept up the pistol Percy had kicked away, span around, and shot at Paul.

Percy only had a split-second to react, shoving the wall of water to intercept the bullet. For a moment, he feared he'd missed, but as his vision focused, he saw it clearly: encased in water only an inch away from Paul's temple.

The shooter, though, had bought himself valuable moments to escape. By now, he was at the side door, pushing down on the handle, and -

And disappearing, along with the door and a large section of wall, in a flaming explosion.

Percy looked towards the last man, still lying and whimpering on the floor. He walked closer until he stood above him, and rolled him over with a prod of his foot. It was the man who had pointed out that he was only a boy, as if that should matter. Perhaps what he should have said was that Percy was a killer. It would have been more accurate, at least.

"You tried to kill me, and more importantly, you tried to kill Paul," said Percy. "Maybe you should be dead for that. It would mean I'd never have to see you again. And believe me, I really don't want to ever see you again. So you get up, and you start running, and you don't stop until you reach another state, or even better, another country. Because the next time I see you, I _will_ kill you."

The man gave two or three hurried nods to show his understanding, then scrambled to his feet and took off as though all of hell was on his tail. With Percy there, it might as well have been.

The demigod took out Riptide and sliced through Paul's bonds.

* * *

To his shame, when Percy offered Paul a hand to help him to his feet, Paul had to think for a moment about whether he really wanted to take that hand.

He had, after all, just witnessed the son of Poseidon ruthlessly butcher a room full of criminals. He felt queasy just looking at one or two of the bodies. It wasn't exactly the sort of bonding exercise most men went through with their step-families.

To be honest, Percy had scared him. There was something unthinking in his anger, an instinctiveness and ease that came more naturally than it should. These deaths had seemed almost inconsequential.

Paul was quite certain that a year ago, Percy wouldn't have considered killing any of them an option.

If you looked for them, the scars of Tartarus were still clear on the few patches of Percy's skin, which he still left bare, but there were less obvious ones beneath the surface. Paul couldn't imagine the horrors down there, but they'd pushed Percy to breaking point. Perhaps past it.

The fight here had not been heroic. Paul knew that it was nothing to be proud of. But if there had been a moment of heroism amidst the chaos and the bloodshed, it would be Percy's decision to let the final member of the gang leave unharmed. That was important.

He didn't have to. The man had tried to kill him, and in the heat of the moment, an execution might have been understandable. But he had looked at Paul and chosen mercy. He had looked at Paul and stilled the fury that might have carried him away.

Tartarus had sunk its hooks deep into Percy's skin. There was a sickness inside him, eating away at what was whole and corrupting what was good. But then Percy had looked at Paul as though he was much more than just his mother's husband, and maybe that was just a reflection of how Paul saw Percy: not just as his wife's son, but as his own.

Removing those hooks and curing that sickness would not be easy. But Percy Jackson had let the last one go, and that was important because it showed that it _was_ still Percy Jackson, not just a hollow husk of a body.

He had let the last one go, and that was important because it showed that he was fighting back against all the evil that was trying to take root inside him.

He had let the last one go, and that was important because it showed that there was a way to be good again.

He had let the last one go, and that was important.

* * *

 **Okay, so I don't know how clear it is, but the one who gets blown up when he tries to open the door had forgotten that one of the other gang members had booby trapped it earlier. Hopefully that's clear enough in the story, but in case not, that's why.**

 **I also realise that it might not seem totally realistic for this gang to use guns and explosives against a teenager, but I'm reckoning that they didn't know if Percy was going to bring armed police with him or something, and that they were really desperate for that gold. So by the time it was just Percy, they thought they might as well use the weapons they already had ready.**

 **I hope the ending is satisfying. I'm not really sure about it, myself - obviously it was never going to be 'and suddenly Percy was fine and everything was great and everyone lived happily after', but at the same time I don't know if I quite captured the sort of 'things are bad but there's still hope' feeling that I was going for.**

 **Thanks to everyone who's reviewed one of my other stories, and if you could bring yourselves to drop one here too, that would be amazing!**

 **Edit: To the guest who asked me to carry this on - sorry I don't know how to contact you, so this is just here in case you ever return - I'm afraid I won't be turning this into a full story, as I'm not sure where I'd go with it, besides which I'm trying to write so many things at the moment that the chances are it would never be finished. If you do want a good post-Tartarus fic, though, some of the best I've read are** _ **Days after Tartarus**_ **by Matanator,** _ **Flaws**_ **by romanitas,** _ **All That Matters**_ **by LiveLaughLove728, and** _ **Falling Down**_ **by angeltalk, so you should definitely check out any of those which you haven't come across before.**


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